Paper Boats
by Juulna
Summary: Tony never thought that he'd be asked to come to Wakanda, let alone by Steve. What was even more unexpected was that Steve had no memory of the last two and a half years. [[ Written for the prompt: 'Amnesia helps Steve/Tony forgive each other.' ]] Steve x Tony, Post-Civil War Fix-It written for the Cap-IM Holiday Exchange. TEAM STONY. Fair treatment to both.


**Note:**

 **This was written for the Tumblr group Cap-IronMan's Holiday Gift Exchange for the user 'Reddwarfer' on AO3. It was a secret santa exchange and the works were anonymous until today, January 7th, (mine was posted on December 29th) and thus why I was not able to post this on FF until today!**

 **This one gave me grief, goodness! xD Mostly because these two burned so many bridges during Civil War and I really really wanted to make sure that I addressed and tried to rebuild as many of them as I possibly could.**

 **I tried to keep this as fair and equitable to both sides as I could, as well. That was really important to me, specifically.**

 **Although this fic is written (almost) exclusively in Tony's PoV, it is by no means a** _'Team Tony'_ **fic. It is also not a** _'Team Cap'_ **fic. This is a** _'Team Stony'_ **fic. A** _'Team I-wish-CA:CW-never-happened-and-I-cry-about-it-into-my-tea-every-morning'_ **fic.**

 **Thanks go out to a number of people for chipping in as a result of my normal (spectacular) beta being busy for finals, though she did contribute to quite a fair degree! That would be Annaelle! But let's give a round of applause to the others who did some seriously fantastic work, including perrydowning and noriselly, who worked with material they weren't as familiar with as their usual stuff, thereddame who listened to me freak out and helped me work some details out, and festiveferret who offered to jump in at the last moment when I was freaking out about Civil War details since I was so worried that people would eat me for breakfast when they read this. Thank you, all of you. You're all amazing. xoxo**

* * *

"Anger is like flowing water; there's nothing wrong with it as long as you let it flow. Hate is like stagnant water; anger that you denied yourself the freedom to feel, the freedom to flow; water that you gathered in one place and left to forget. Stagnant water becomes dirty, stinky, disease-ridden, poisonous, deadly; that is your hate. On flowing water travels little _**paper boats**_ ; paper boats of forgiveness. Allow yourself to feel anger, allow your waters to flow, along with all the paper boats of forgiveness. Be human."  
― **C. JoyBell C.**

* * *

He should've at least waited a day. Two would have been better, three ideal—or just, honestly, Tony never should have said yes at all when he'd been asked to come to Wakanda.

It showed how weak he was. How weak he'd always be for Steve fucking Rogers.

But he was here, and it was in the past, and Tony had been practicing really hard at letting things go that he couldn't change any longer.

So, he had left behind the warmth of the family he'd built in his Tower in the wake of the 'war', had left behind Vision, as well as Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Peter, and _their_ families, who had become _his_ family, and had come halfway across the world to the man he had hoped would one day…

Well. He _had_ said he'd been _practicing_ at letting things go.

"He... doesn't remember." It was half statement, half question, and T'Challa hummed in affirmation, in such a non-committal way that Tony had no idea what the man thought about the situation.

Tony turned to look at him, moving slowly so that he could gather the right words—words came to him with less ease than they had in the past—and then sized T'Challa up before finally speaking. "How?" he settled on. He spoke far less than he used to, preferring to observe in silence where before he had filled the silence with ceaseless chatter used to mask his true self.

Now he was raw. He was bare to the world.

At least, sometimes he seemed to feel that way.

"We're not quite sure of the particulars," T'Challa replied, voice even and calm, not rushed. His accent had always been lovely to listen to, strange to Tony's American ears and yet soothing, and even now he found himself hanging on the way the vowels and consonants formed on the other man's tongue. "Those with him on the mission lost sight of him when he fell down the ravine, and when they were finally able to reach him, he was as he is now, memoryless."

Tony appreciated the king's discretion—in not naming names he didn't want to hear, or at least wasn't _ready_ to hear with any frequency—and was struck by the thought that it was one of the only truly considerate things that someone had done for him outside of his small circle in the Tower. Such a small thing to affect him, but… well, there it was. He blinked, chasing away the edge of tears that had wanted to well up— _fuck_ , he was such a wreck these days, all he wanted was for this to _end_ —and pulled himself back together again, all within a single moment. But it was long enough for the king to pause and look at him and, though his expression hadn't changed, Tony could tell there was a softening to it, a gentling around the edges of his eyes as T'Challa looked at him and took Tony in, as he _saw_ him in a way that Tony hadn't quite meant for himself to be seen.

But… if there was one pseudo-stranger that he could trust to be seen like this around, it was the King of Wakanda. They may have only spoken a couple dozen times, and only once or twice in person, but there was a gravitas and a solemnitude to the man that added to his experiences with him and lent a general air of… well, trust wasn't really a word Tony used anymore, not outside of his family sphere, but it was… close. Plus, he had met T'Challa before everything had gone down, before he'd stopped _trusting_ , and that meant a world of difference to Tony's heart and mind.

Tony quirked one corner of his lip up at T'Challa—not a smile, anything but, but more like an ironic acknowledgment of Tony's own idiosyncrasies—and T'Challa tilted his head just the smallest bit and continued on as if he had never once paused. Tony appreciated it more than he could, and never would, admit.

"There was no lasting damage," T'Challa continued, "that our scans could detect, but we believe that the serum healed him quickly enough on the flight over that there was nothing left to see. And yet my physicians could give me no better an answer than that they do not know why the amnesia is not following the normal patterns seen in regular patients. That it could break on its own when the serum has determined it has finished healing, or he could be without the last handful of years forever. He could have a gap forever, but he hasn't been incapable of retaining new—"

Tony cut in abruptly, wincing internally at his rudeness with this man that deserved none of it, even as he continued to steamroll right along. "So he can't remember the last… how many years? Handful? What does that mean? Does that mean two? Four? Five?" Tony was struck with the fear that Steve had forgotten who he was entirely; that he didn't know who Tony was at _all_. That Tony would see no hint of recognition in those blue, _blue_ eyes.

But then… no, but then Steve wouldn't have been able to ask for Tony by name, and that's what he'd been told had happened.

"Two and a half, we believe," T'Challa corrected, dragging Tony from the tumult of his thoughts, though not without giving Tony a chastising look as he did so. But he moved on, seeming to understand what Tony wouldn't, couldn't, say out loud. "He was able to recall details of certain months, dates, but was not able to recall anything when asked about more recent dates."

Tony caught on immediately, letting his heart rate slow down considerably as he did so. "So you've been asking _him_ to tell you what he remembers of certain dates, but you haven't offered any details of your own, to see if it jogs his memory?"

"We… his teammates didn't want to upset him. To tell him of…" T'Challa trailed off as Tony stared at him with disbelief. It was the first time he had ever seen the monarch discomfited, as the other man grimaced at himself, at the words he had just uttered.

"No one's told him about what happened, have they?" Tony asked quietly, pulling himself back together. It wasn't the king's fault that Steve's friends felt talking about Tony would stress Steve out if he were to suddenly remember something pertinent.

Really, it wasn't any of their faults except his and Steve's.

T'Challa worked his jaw, and glanced at the door behind him. It was a different one than Tony had come through, and the pieces clicked together in Tony's mind like tumblers in a lock. But he waited—he waited to see what sort of answer he would receive. And then his next course of action would be dependent on that.

"No," T'Challa answered a little bit more roughly than he had been speaking before, and he continued in the same manner, the smooth veneer of his status worn away in a manner Tony was all too familiar with. Obviously, he disapproved. "The others did not wish to bring up the events of six months ago unless they absolutely had to, but myself and my top psychologists believe that it would be for the best to feed him certain information in an effort to see if it would, how do you say it… jumpstart his memory." T'Challa's face softened then, and he smiled at Tony, but it was a bittersweet smile. "They care for him, your former teammates." And only T'Challa could soften those words enough for him not to wince. "They do want what's best for him, but they can be stubborn."

He slanted his gaze at Tony, and then his lips curled from the bittersweet smile to something a little bit more… wily. "I have acceded to their wishes for now as I share a space with them, and they are his teammates, but you…" He smiled more fully, and Tony was reminded so much of a cat in that moment that he wondered if T'Challa stood in front of a fucking mirror every day to practice. "He asked for you specifically, vociferously, and I have a feeling that it may be because he feels a little as if he cannot trust us, even if just a little; that we are keeping things back from him. And we are, are we not? But you…" T'Challa raised an eyebrow expectantly, and let silence reign over them once again.

Tony looked at him appraisingly for a long moment, and then said lowly, almost mournfully—but _fuck it_ , he didn't want to put out the energy to hide it, and T'Challa knew enough anyway— "I may as well be the one to tell him that the man he asked for is the man he's spent the last six months hating, that I'm the man who helped to destroy everything he built in this century. The futurist destroying the future for the man out of time… has some sort of ironic twist to it, doesn't it?"

"Tony—" But Tony was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him, his blood rushing in his ears.

Moments later, he was in front of the door to Steve's rooms, it having been pointed out to him on the way to the small meeting room he'd just been in.

He didn't even think, he just barged right in, adrenaline pumping through him as his mind whirred ceaselessly, but no thoughts sticking around for longer than a moment.

All Tony could do was _feel_ , and those feelings were pulled from his past, overcoming his present, overcoming his fears, pushing him to—

He came to an immediate stop as soon as he threw the door shut behind him. He stopped, and he _stared_ , gaping, no longer able to think, no longer able to function—

The moment Steve Rogers saw him, he broke into a large smile, the one that was particular to the way he looked at Tony, only _him_ , and it was as if everything had been righted, everything was the _same_ , everything was—

Nothing was the same.

 _Nothing_.

And fuck, there was his brain, correcting him, reminding him that this was _wrong_ , that Steve _hated_ him, and how could Steve smile like that when nothing was right between them anymore? There was his brain reminding him that there was no more chance at the _could have been_ that had floated around them in those wonderful years they'd worked together, side by side, sassing and snarking and smiling and just… _everything_.

And then _nothing_.

Tony had _nothing_.

Steve's smile turned a little lopsided, and then slipped all the way into a frown, into… it was his concerned face, one Tony knew _so fucking well that it hurt_ , but Tony had no _right_ to that expression anymore—even if that special look was reserved only for _him_.

Steve stood up from where he'd been perched on his couch, and took a step towards him, expression _concerned_ , and that was all it took—

Tony winced, a vivid mental image of the last time Cap had moved towards him filling his mind's eye, and took a step back, one hand coming up to block his center, his heart, and the other to protect his throat.

Cap—no, this was all _Steve_ —came to a complete stop, his expression of worry completely open, unguarded. "Tony?" he asked quietly.

Tony realized suddenly that he was breathing too quickly, that his heart was racing, and surely Steve would be able to hear it, and the thought of Steve pulled him out of his headspace—how fucking _embarrassing_ to have been so consumed like that—and he blinked once, twice, and then lowered his hands.

He didn't apologize. He wouldn't. He _couldn't_.

Silence.

"Tony, something's obviously wrong." Steve was the one to finally speak first after nearly a minute had gone by of him watching Tony closely— _too closely_ , Tony's hindbrain said, no matter how much he reminded himself about Steve's condition, no matter how much he reminded himself that there was no way that Steve could _remember_ what Tony had done, and thus he wouldn't want to hurt him... No… not yet, at least. But when he learned the truth…? When he remembered…? Tony suppressed a shiver. Steve _deserved_ to remember, to know, though. And then...

Steve then sat down on the couch, once again, slowly, holding his hands palm out towards Tony and far away from his body, and then slowly lowered them until they were resting palm up on top of his knees. He glanced up at Tony again, and then his eyes dropped to his hands. To give the guy credit, he may not know _what_ was going on, but he could read a situation like an open book, and always could. Always would be able to, no matter the situation, it seemed.

"They say I can't remember the last two and a bit years, but no one will tell me what happened in that time," Steve said bitterly… suspiciously. "They look at each other, dissemble, prevaricate… and then treat me as if I'm stupid, but I'm not, and you know that, and I know _you_ , I _trust_ you… So I'll ask you this one time: what is going on, what have I missed, why haven't you been here, with me, with us, and where the hell _am_ I?" His lips twitched just the slightest, almost wryly. "I would make a reference here but I think it would fall flat right now."

Steve's words, especially the last, were enough to knock Tony out of his fugue, but he only smiled just the tiniest bit as his eyes dropped down to the floor. He took a step forward, and then thought better of it halfway through the movement, and stumbled, only to catch himself on the wall before he ended up face first in the carpeting. A quick glance at Steve showed that the man was staring at him with concern, looking him over for obvious injury, but staying seated through sheer force of will, the muscles and tendons in his forearms tight with tension as his hands formed fists.

"I'm not in some alternate dimension, am I?" Steve asked after a moment, his tone tinged with humor but also with concern at the thought that he might actually be _right_.

"No, no, nothing of the sort," Tony choked out finally, still propped up with one arm against the wall of the entryway. "At least, not that I know of—your, your... friends—" He spoke right over Steve asking why Tony was referring to them as such and plowed right on, "—asked me to keep out of the lab, and really I don't know anything much about brains—"

' _Never mind the hours and hours of reading up on brains and brain injuries and amnesia cases I did just for you; for you and Barnes_ ,' Tony's own brain reminded him.

"—so really it's not like I'd do much good in there anyway, so I'll leave it to them. They… they _did_ tell you that you hit your head, right?" Tony asked, just in case, right as the thought popped into his mind.

One of Steve's hands released its death grip on nothing and moved slowly to the right side of his forehead. "Yeah, they did," he replied, forehead wrinkling in concentration, as if he was trying to recall the feeling of hitting his head. "But not much more." He looked over at Tony, and the older man found himself standing straighter under the softness of the gaze. He couldn't help it; Steve had _always_ had that effect on him, and his body just wouldn't stop… "That's why I asked for you, Tony," Steve said, equally as softly as his expression. "I knew you wouldn't steer me wrong. You've always had my back—even during our rough times, you always came through for me."

The earnestness of his expression, touched by the softness that was all _Steve Rogers_ and not Captain America—he'd fight anyone who told him they were one and the same—and the honesty of those words had Tony reeling, because holy _fuck_ , did Steve know how to hit him hard.

And when Tony Stark reeled, he threw everything else out the window.

Before he knew it, he found himself on the couch arm, Steve pulled tight against his chest, his face buried in the mop of dirty blond hair that he hadn't touched, hadn't smelled, in… _so long_ , _fuck_ , fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Steve hesitated, hands held away from Tony as if he didn't know if he were allowed to touch or not, and then slowly, oh _so_ slowly, he brought them in and around Tony, loosely, and Tony knew, in a part of his brain not lost to sensation, that Steve was making sure that Tony knew he could escape at any time.

 _Fuck_.

Their few embraces before had never had that undertone to them.

This was… this was not right.

But it touched that same part of him, deep inside, that Steve would be so careful with him; that he would treat him as if he were… precious.

Tony slowly came back to himself, the scent of _Steve_ , buried under the new smells, still there, and it… it felt like _home_. But at the same time it _wasn't_. And he knew that, but Steve didn't, or at least he only had an inkling, and…

Tony had come in here to tell him everything. To tell him the truth. Because he deserved to know that the man Steve had asked to come to him, there in Wakanda, was not the man he remembered.

That Tony was a man he hated. Not trusted.

Never again would Steve trust Tony the way he once had.

Tony had come here to tell Steve that the man he'd asked to tell him the truth was the man he _loathed_ , who had ruined his whole world, and here he was taking comfort from that man, stealing it like… like...

Tony extricated himself, keeping his disgust at himself firmly off of his face and sliding off of the couch's arm and onto the floor. Steve's arms let him go immediately.

Tony turned away, but kept the other man in his peripherals, and walked a few steps away, to gather his thoughts. He was trying desperately to ignore the part of him that wanted to say damn it all to everything and everyone, and throw himself back at the man.

He wanted to, more than ever before, and it took everything in him not to fling himself back into Steve's arms, back into the warmth and sanctuary that was Steve and only _Steve_.

And wasn't _that_ fucked up, huh? Tony scoffed at himself. Never mind that he wanted to hold the man who had no idea he hated him, practically taking advantage of him, but this was also the same man who had almost killed him, abandoned him in Siberia to a cold and lonely death, and—

Tony firmed his resolve, and twisted around, settling himself into the armchair across the coffee table from the couch where Steve was sitting uneasily.

Where to begin, how much to tell, _what_ to say, when to tell it, _how_ to—

"It's September 2016," Tony began before he could psych himself out, but his words came out toneless, and his eyes were picking out the pattern in the carpet that he was sure was beautiful, but he had no appreciation for in that moment. He was avoiding this, filling Steve in on… everything, and he knew it. "September 23rd, to be exact, not that it really… matters." He grimaced, and then looked up, catching Steve's gaze and holding it. Steve looked like he was about out of patience, but it wasn't the 'I am supremely frustrated with you, Tony' type, more the 'Fuck the world, I'll punch my way through things until I get answers' sort.

A look he had grown _more_ than familiar with six months ago, even more than any time before.

He supposed that if he'd lost his memories of the last nearly three years, he'd have lost his patience _far_ sooner than Steve, and that would've been on a _good_ day. Tony would want answers—of _course_ he'd want answers, and he'd be screaming for them already, instead of dealing with it with composure like Steve was.

Well, like he _had_ been.

"Tony…" Steve began, frown drawing his eyebrows together.

Tony threw up his hands. "I know, sorry, I'm getting there," he grumbled. He stared for a moment as Steve settled himself back into the cushions of the couch, his hands clenching the fabric of his sweatpants.

But, remarkably, that little interruption was all Tony had needed to send his brain, and mouth, in the right direction.

"Look," Tony sighed. "What I'm going to tell you is going to suck. It's going to be a big fucking shock to you, to your system, and frankly I'm not sure how much they kept from you, but I'm going to give it all to you and it's going to fucking _suck_ , Ste—Cap." His breath hitched just slightly, then he quickly powered past the discrepancy. "I'm sure they would have told you eventually, Cap," he said a little more softly, switching gears as he noticed the look of anger starting to spread its way onto Steve's features. "They're your friends, they fought tooth and nail for you when you sounded the call, and I know they're just looking out for you. That they care. I… I can't believe I'm saying this of them, but they're good people. Uh… good people for you. They… I'm sure they hated when you asked for me, though, man—"

"Tony," Steve practically growled, and the only thing that prevented Tony from physically jumping at the tone was the steel grip that he was exerting over himself, to keep himself exactly where he was.

Why… had he come in the first place, anyway?

He glanced at Steve warily—oh, right, _fucking sentimentality_. All the _could have beens_ , the _what ifs_ , the _I would have fought the world alongside you if only you'd just asked_ …

Yeah, still not over that. Had never even been a question.

But… fuck. He had to spit this out—he was starting to lose control.

"You hate me."

How… eloquent. Wow, Tony, truly spectacular. He grimaced.

There was a moment of silence as Steve seemed to grapple with what he'd heard, a blank look on his face, before he looked at Tony in wide-eyed disbelief, as if there was no way what Tony had said could possibly be true. "I what?" Steve asked, confusion clouding his voice… but also a hint of hurt, as if Tony were trying to…

As if he thought Tony were lying to him.

As if Tony would _ever_.

Not about this.

Not the way Steve had—no, nope, not now. It wasn't the time for that.

Tony looked at Steve and found himself filled with resolve. He needed to tell him, needed to do right by his old friend… and then leave. Correct Steve's thoughts and feelings about him, put him on the right track, and then leave, forever, like what Steve had made so clear to him before.

He would do it for him. A last favor, if you will.

"Your… current self, who you were before this mission, before you forgot, I mean... _that_ guy hates me." He was prepared for it, and so he powered right over the consternated look and slightly parted lips of the Captain as they started to open up to inevitably interrupt and 'correct' him. "Shit came up. Politics are always a great relationship ruiner—not that we _had_ one besides being relatively good friends, right—and we fought. You chose another side, you asked your other friends to side with you, and I tried to stop you, asking still others to side with me, and you…"

Tony took in a shaky breath, his eyes flicking away before returning to catch Steve's piercing blue ones. It was a mistake, he realized a moment too late, but he was committed to the gaze for the moment; there was no backing down in this circumstance. At any other time he could've, but this… no. It was too tense, too fraught. "You burned the world for him, Cap. You burned it all. The team, the Avengers, the good ole U.S. of A., the United Nations, _us_ …"

Tony's breaths were starting to come more heavily, and he took a moment to gulp once, twice, and then powered on again before Steve could interrupt. "Fuck, Cap, you burned it all for him and never once sat down to talk it over with us. We could have _helped_. _I_ could have helped, Steve. Fuck. You didn't _trust_ me. There were other options, things that I knew that you didn't know—that _none_ of you did—but you could have asked me. You didn't. Shit—" Tony thrust a hand into his hair, throwing it into further disarray, his breaths coming even more quickly. "Yeah, I should have clued in a lot sooner, a lot harder, that you had no idea what was going on, that you had no idea that you had _bargaining_ power—that we all did—but I didn't, and you didn't even stop to see another avenue, and there it is, there's how we fucked up our friendship. There's how you simply skipped from _this_ ," he gestured at Steve, "straight to thinking I was the worst possible person ever, without _talking_ to me, after _years_ of partnership and trust that we'd built. After becoming friends. After we were... When things were… All for _him_ , you gave up what we—"

Tony jerked his eyes away, realizing exactly what he was about to say not a moment too soon.

Well, at least he had _some_ control.

"For who?" Steve's voice came out rough, and Tony looked back at him, slowly moving his head until he could see that Steve was slowly, oh so slowly, getting to his feet, his body practically quaking in that way it did when he was holding himself back, controlling every muscle in his body so as not to harm or hurt unintentionally.

"For _who_ , Tony?" he asked again, biting off each word, even as his eyes… as his eyes filled with hope.

Tony quickly went back over everything he'd said, his memory allowing him to recall with precision each time he had mentioned… _him_.

He was surprised, in a way, that Steve had been able to control himself so long, without jumping the gun and strangling Tony for an answer at the very first mention, in Tony's explanation, of the man who could only be his best friend. Obviously Steve had been waiting, compiling the words, trying to make sure that he wasn't hoping for nothing, that he wasn't imagining things, that he wasn't misunderstanding a single word.

Nope, no, and no way, respectively.

It was something that Tony had… not quite intended to bring up yet.

"Ah, _fuck_ ," Tony said, closing his eyes tight.

"Tony…"

"Stop using that voice on me, Cap, you know I hate it," Tony groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and sinking back into the chair again.

"Stop stalling then," Steve said frustratedly, as if reading Tony's mind. And damn if that wasn't a knife in the gut for Tony, because fuck, Steve had known Tony so well two and a half years ago. He'd known him so well _six months ago_ , and probably still, right then, if you were to take away the amnesia, knew him better than most people other than Pep and Rhodey, even his new friends and family at the Tower. At least… at least for the moment.

No use getting hung up on what could have been.

"I'm not stalling," Tony grouched, doing exactly that.

"Yes, you are," Steve said, more patiently than the moment before, almost fondly, and then his hand was gently lifting Tony's away from his eyes. And it was the fondness in his tone that threw Tony off, that made it so that he was so distracted he didn't even flinch away from Steve's touch like he thought he would, like his brain was screaming at him to do way in the back of his mind.

No, instead he let Steve hold his hand gently in both of his, Steve's two large, warm hands gently encasing Tony's one smaller, cold hand, fingers lightly caressing over the calluses, scars, and burns on Tony's work-roughened skin as he met and held Tony's gaze.

And in that gaze, he was pleading with Tony for far more than an answer to his question about his best friend, and it was too much, it was _too much_ , and Tony couldn't handle the guilt suddenly consuming him. He couldn't handle seeing the emotions in Steve that he _knew_ that the present-day Steve wouldn't be feeling, and it was like taking advantage of the man, it was as if he were leading him on and he couldn't do that. He just _couldn't do that_ to him at all, not when Tony knew the truth, and Steve didn't, even if Tony had told him. Just… he couldn't, he couldn't, oh holy fuck, he was going to have a panic attack if he didn't stop this right now—Fuck.

He wanted, he wanted Steve so much, he wanted everything about him, everything from two and a half years ago, everything from four years ago, everything from six months ago, everything from _ever_ , but it was _too fucking late and he couldn't have any of it and it was his fault, his fucking fault_ —

"We found Barnes," Tony said suddenly, practically gasping the words out as he tugged his hand out from between Steve's hands and averted his eyes, not wanting to see the way that Steve's expression changed. Not wanting to know, one way or the other, how Steve's expression morphed when thinking of his friend versus the man who could have been… _more_ , even though he _knew_ that there never had been, and never would be, anything between Barnes and Steve. Straight from the horse's mouth on that one. Well, more like the falcon's.

But still. Sometimes one could be jealous of friendships just the same.

"You, we…" Steve choked out, and then Tony heard a _thump_ , and looked over to see Steve sitting on the coffee table, one hand in his hair and the other clutching his knee, but both trembling, and looking even paler than before—if that were at all possible. He looked at Tony, his eyes wide, filled with hope, but also… also a little bit of fear, or perhaps trepidation, Tony thought. "What happened?" Steve asked, and then swallowed thickly. "Where did— Who… shit. I can't… just… Tony, what _happened_?"

Tony took pity on him then, knowing what he had to do then. Knowing that this was something that had to be done. His mind flashed back to what T'Challa had said about his doctors believing that it would be best to feed him certain information to see if it would jumpstart Steve's memory.

Perhaps it would be helpful in more than one way.

"Come with me," he said as he stood, and he wasn't even surprised at himself for the gentleness of his voice.

* * *

Tony stood back and watched as Steve pressed first one hand, and then the other, almost reverently against the glass of the cryo-chamber. The glass was as clear as it could be, frost only barely spidering across the surface, and the man inside was easily visible to those outside.

It wasn't as hard to see Barnes in person as he thought. Well, for one, the man was frozen. He'd make a joke about being a popsicle, but even the thought of that fell flat in his mind. It just didn't seem right. And for another, well, he'd been… he'd been doing a lot of soul searching in the last few months; a lot of making up for his past mistakes once he realized that there was jack all that Barnes was responsible for when it came to the transgressions of the Winter Soldier.

So Tony took a seat at the back of the room as Steve reconnected as best he could with the man he'd burned the world down for—or, at least, Tony's world.

The Wakandan staff had cleared out as soon as Steve and Tony had entered, obviously warned ahead of time by T'Challa. One had even pressed the key for the cryo chamber into Tony's hand on her way out the door, nodding solemnly at him as she did so.

And then it was just the two of them. Well, three, technically, he supposed.

For the most part, Tony kept his gaze slanted away from the two other men, not wanting to intrude on the reunion—such as it was—and had even tried to leave at one point. But Steve had issued out a broken, "Stay," the only thing he'd said in the last twenty minutes—and Tony hadn't even seen Steve look his way—but he sat his butt right back down on the chair he'd attempted to vacate.

He closed his eyes, trying to blank his mind, breathing deep, trying to control himself and his thoughts in the face of _so much_. Here he was, finally, in the room with… with…

It was one thing to help the man who'd killed his parents, who'd been part of attacking him—well, attacking _each other_ —in Siberia, via T'Challa's hoard of doctors and psychiatrists, but it was another thing entirely to be here… _here_. To see him in the flash. It was enough to set his pulse skyrocketing, his breaths to quickening, his hands to trembling…

"Tony?"

He snapped his eyes open and rocked to his feet, hands coming up at the ready to protect himself before he was even aware of who was in front of him.

Steve.

Good lord, he had to stop doing that. That was the second time he'd instinctively protected himself when Steve had surprised him like that, getting all into his physical space without—

No. No, Tony didn't need to apologize for that.

Steve looked at him a little concernedly, but the next words out of his mouth were mercifully nothing to do with his reaction.

Perhaps it would have been better if they had been.

"The housing for Bucky's arm is Stark tech; I'd recognize that anywhere, but the last time I saw him he had a whole arm, and the last I knew, he was on the run. And… I know we're not in the U.S., we're in some African country, but no one's told me which, and you…" There was a hard glint in Steve's eye, but it turned scared in the blink of an eye, and Tony had _never_ seen Steve scared before, _holy shit_ — "…you said I burned the world for him. That I gave up everything for Bucky. Tony, I want to know what happened. I want to know what brought me here, what brought him here, what happened to…" He sagged a little and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sit," Tony ordered, but not unkindly.

Steve sat, almost gratefully, in the seat that Tony had been in, and Tony moved to a different desk to grab another chair, spinning it around so that he could sit on it backwards, straddling it—an old habit he'd never quite gotten rid of when he was in need of another barrier.

Tony caught Steve glancing towards Bucky. "Would you like to sit closer?" Tony asked.

Steve flicked his eyes back towards Tony. "No, uh, no, that's okay. I can see him, so I'm okay, thank you."

Tony's gaze drifted to Barnes for a moment, and then back to Steve's, where he met the blond's with a softening of his expression. He couldn't help it; he was glad that they'd found each other again, no matter the circumstances.

"Okay." Tony took a deep breath. Where to begin…?

This truly was complicated. What did you tell an amnesiac Captain America about the events of the last two and a half years that had brought his best friend back to the fold, minus an arm? What did you tell him about the circumstances that had brought most of the team to Wakanda, to the castle of a foreign king you'd never met who had once wanted to kill your best friend? What did you tell him about the circumstances that had brought numerous new teammates to the Avengers, and which had lost them others, and had gained them new allies, new enemies? What did you tell him about the circumstances that had led to his former other-best-friend Tony no longer being his best friend, and the world trying to cram this thing called the Accords down the superhero community's throat, which was something you had decided to vehemently oppose?

Um…

"Um…" Tony said, biting his lower lip.

Steve sighed, and gave him an amused, but tired look. "Why don't you start by telling me a little about the arm, and then you can get around to telling me how he came back."

He was sort of caught, and sort of had to, so he did, even though he'd never intended to be found out for his part in giving back Barnes the use of the arm he'd destroyed. But, if he had to…

"That old thing was a hunk of junk," were the first words out of his mouth. He felt his eyes go a little wide, and Steve's lips curled just the slightest bit upwards in response. And that was all that was needed to help loosen his tongue, to help relax the muscles in his shoulders and back, and let him sit easier in his chair.

It wasn't going to be an easy conversation, but it needed to be done. He remembered his earlier resolve to do this as one last thing for his old friend, because he deserved it, and steeled himself before diving in. "The specifics of the arm aren't what really matter right now, but I'll put you at ease by telling you that the arm comes with no strings attached and that it will be done no matter what you or I say or hear today. It'll be serviced by Stark engineers for the rest of his life, whether that's myself or another of my Tier Seven Engineers, or one of T'Challa's—that's your host—royal engineers, who've been doing the in-person work while I've been kept States-side. And that's already been put on paper, signed, and witnessed by the king, too."

Steve was looking a little dazed, but he managed a, "Thank you," before Tony steamrolled right on, figuring that if he stopped, there was likely no way he'd start up again. And this really needed to be said. And _now_ , before he lost his nerve. Or before he dragged his feet and ended up staying in Wakanda for ten months because he couldn't ever manage to find the right words to tell Steve exactly how they'd all fucked up.

"They think it'll be approximately two, maybe three more months on the cryo," he said. "The brainwashing is almost completely gone, they're just waiting on a few trouble spots on the MRIs to disappear, but they have been slowly decreasing in size, so that's positive. You'll get Barnes back, but I do warn you that he'll still be… different."

Steve barely got out a grave, "I know," before Tony continued, trying desperately to escape the knowing look he could see starting to creep onto Steve's features as he looked with dawning comprehension between Tony and Barnes.

He _so_ did not want to go there. It was enough to talk about the arm, because that was _engineering_ , and could be chalked up to Tony's academic fascination… but psychology? Brains? He didn't want to explain how he'd watched every single video of the Winter Soldier—kills, torture, brainwashing, and all—read every file, and walked through his grief and guilt and out the other side with the conviction that he had to make things right between him and the man he'd almost killed.

So no, he did not let Steve Rogers get that thought off the ground.

"I'm sure you're wondering how he got here, and that ties into what I was talking about earlier. The Accords. But let me back it up a little, so we can make it simple… after S.H.I.E.L.D. went kaput and Hydra was revealed, and those files released—which, yes, was definitely necessary, don't get me wrong—the world started watching a little closer, and wanting more responsibility to be taken for actions across the world stage. But since there was no more S.H.I.E.L.D., and even if there was, how could they be trusted, who would take their place? So, this was one of—"

"Tony," Steve cut in, looking apologetic for having done so, even as he squared his shoulders and firmed his jaw in that stubborn way that he often did.

Uh oh.

"What is it?" Tony asked.

"Um, about those… leaked files." Steve looked to the side briefly, and then looked back, staring him right in the eye. It was almost like Captain America was facing down a firing squad. "There's something I need to tell you."

Tony froze for a moment, connecting the dots immediately. It… couldn't be. Cap had kept this to himself for two years, had never said a word to Tony about it, and now here he was, trying to tell Tony about the very thing he'd kept a secret for so long, as if it were… no, not nothing. Not by a long shot, and not by the way Steve was holding himself. But… as if it were something important he had to tell Tony.

As if that mattered.

As if _Tony_ mattered.

And just… _fuck_.

Had Tony mattered the whole time?

"About my parents?" Tony managed to get out, before he let his voice get choked up with all of the emotions trying to eat away at his insides. "It's… alright. I already know what—I know what happened to them the night they died. How it… happened. I appreciate you wanting to tell me, though." And then Tony took a little bit of a risk by adding, "And I know why you would've wanted to keep it from me, so it means more that you've told me. Doubly so, or… something like that…"

Steve looked thrown for a moment, not quite sure what to do with that, but he'd been handling the amnesia so well that it wasn't a surprise at all that he was handling this hurdle with just as much aplomb. "But I should've told you when I first found out," he said, powering on.

"Yeah, but you're telling me now, without prompting," Tony said, just as stubbornly.

That seemed to give Steve pause. His face contorted oddly and then he looked at Tony in a way that spoke of him already guessing at the truth. Tony should have been the the victim here, _had_ been the victim, but the look on Steve's face… Tony had spent too much time in his own head going over exactly how badly Steve had gutted him, how much Steve had tossed down the drain by keeping this knowledge from him, and he didn't need to keep doing it to himself. There wasn't any room in his heart for that anymore, especially not in the face of… _this_. Whatever this odd sort of limbo Tony and _this_ Steve had found themselves in.

Tony had to let it go. Had… already let it go it, seemed. The realization stunned him for a moment, and he nearly missed Steve's next words, so lost in his head was he.

"Did… did I tell you? Before?" Steve asked.

Tony let the silence drag for just a moment, not quite sure how much to say, but then settled on a simple, "No." But there was no recrimination behind it.

"I didn't tell you until it was too late, did I?" Steve pushed. He didn't clarify what the 'too late' was, but there was no need.

Tony sighed, "No, you didn't." His lips twisted, and tears pricked behind his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly so that none fell. This wasn't the time nor the place, no matter the emotions being dragged to the surface and stomped upon.

Within moments he got control of himself, and chanced a glance at the other man. Steve looked absolutely miserable, and Tony ached to reach out and touch him, but he kept himself still, right where he was, knowing that if he touched Steve right then, there was no way he'd be able to stop. No way he'd be able to stop the tears he was holding back, either.

"I'm sorry," Steve said after a long moment of silence. "I would change it if I could."

"You just did."

And he had. Fuck, he _had_. Steve might not be… well, he might be missing two and a half years, but he was still… he was still _Steve_ , and it just showed that given the chance, given the opportunity, Steve _would_ have told Tony what had happened, and that changed _everything_.

It changed it _all_.

Steve frowned. "But it's not like I really succeeded or it really mattered, did it? Since it changed nothing."

"It changes how I feel about it, Steve, so thank you." Tony smiled gently, albeit a little shakily, at Steve, desperately trying to hold himself together, desperately trying to think of a way to move on that would be natural, that wouldn't spill his emotions everywhere in front of this man who meant—had… did still… did he?—the whole world to him.

"Okay," Steve said, sounding a little uncomfortable, as if he wasn't quite sure where to go from there, and Tony would feel sorry for him if the feeling wasn't rather mutual. Fortunately—or quite _un_ fortunately—there was a lot more to be explained, and he seized onto that as if it were a lifeline.

"As I was saying," Tony started, more gently than his inner turmoil seemed to call for. He felt empathy for this… other version of Steve. He seemed younger, less battle-hardened, less rough, less… jaded, cynical, less _angry_. "The countries of the world started to talk, started to watch, started to see that there was no oversight for the heroes of the world like us, like the others who've been operating on their own or in smaller groups, and even those who operate on a much less noticeable scale. S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, so there was no one really for us, and who was 'watching the watchers', so to speak? And let alone who was watching the small-time heroes in city neighborhoods? When villains or aliens or the like would attack, collateral damage happened, and who took responsibility for that?" Tony's lips twisted, thinking of all the lives his choices had cost, had taken. He'd never be able to repay that debt.

"Why do I not like where this is going?" Steve asked, wariness creeping into his voice.

 _There_ he was.

"Because you've got a brain," Tony sighed, knowing eventually they'd come to his part in all of this, and it may as well start right then. "About a year after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, the Avengers were pulled together for our second large mission when an A.I. that I was working on went evil and decided to wipe out all humanity. We were able to stop him but not before the battle took hundreds of lives and destroyed an entire city, people's ways of life… It was… awful. And that, along with a few other incidents where collateral damage happened, where the world at large thought and felt that those deaths or damage were completely preventable, if not that they were outright caused _by_ the Avengers or other superhero groups… This brings us to the Sokovia Accords."

Tony took a breath. Here was the hardest part. But… He looked at Steve, and saw that the other man was looking at him evenly, carefully, and perhaps a little sadly, but there was no recrimination in his eyes—at least not _yet_. Even when he had mentioned Ultron… had he underscored enough the fact that it had been his fault? Should he go back and make sure Steve knew that? No, it was a little late to go back for that; it would look weird. But he was sure that Steve's friends would be willing to fill in that detail for him at a later date.

"Okay, so. The Accords." Tony breathed again, nice and deep, and rubbed his palms over the fabric of his pants, wiping the sweat off of them before once more gripping the back of the chair with his hands. "The… intent of them was good, but…" Tony swallowed thickly, averted his eyes, and then tried again. That was definitely not the proper way to go about this topic. It was a coward's way, even if his perspective had changed on the Accords in the fallout of everything that had occurred. "The Accords were something that 117 nations put together under the auspices of the United Nations after one particularly bad mission that claimed twenty-six civilian lives as a direct result of Avengers action. For which we were not made to answer."

Steve looked a little sick at that, but kept quiet, likely knowing he just needed to let Tony get it all out.

"The Accords _have_ been ratified, but these things can be changed, amendments can be pushed through with enough political power. This was something I didn't make clear the first time around, this was what ruined everything, I should have—"

"Tony." Just his name, nothing more.

He took a deep breath, then let it out, and repeated it, then shoved a shaky hand through his hair. "Sorry, I got a little… off topic there." He didn't look at Steve, and just continued straight on, as if none of that had happened. "You were vehemently opposed to the Accords. I was… I was all for accountability. I've been trying to be accountable for my deeds ever since I stopped producing weapons at Stark Industries, but I wasn't doing a very good job of it with other aspects of my life, including as a superhero—as an Avenger. There were things we were doing that needed oversight. And we didn't have it. Even when we had S.H.I.E.L.D we didn't have it; not really." He knew he was veering off course, explaining away his actions as if it could possibly make what happened right, but he just… he couldn't help it. Steve—old Steve, _this_ Steve—had always been so easy to talk to, had always _listened_ , had always let Tony be emotional and share his thoughts and fears and pain, and so it all came pouring out of Tony without any care to what he wanted.

"The Accords aimed to hold us accountable, and I wanted that. But there were parts that went too far, and I saw those, and I… I knew that they were there, and I was _fighting_ them, but in a way that you—the other you—couldn't see, and I… didn't tell you, I didn't _show_ you, because I didn't even think to. It was so ingrained as part of my world that I didn't even think you wouldn't see how I was negotiating every aspect of the Accords, pushing for better terms, giving an inch there, taking an inch in another spot, making sure that we would get what was best for _our people_ … that's… that's all I wanted. But I… somehow I ended up causing more pain, more hardship than I intended. Somehow it all ended up being my fault, or at least a good portion of it, and _I own that_ , but… _fuck_. I hurt you, through all of this, and you're not even… _you_ , so I can't say sorry properly and I fucking hate this, I just… _fuck_ , I didn't want it to be this way. The team split, and I'm… well, we're to blame, both of us, really, and we ended up fighting each other, on opposite sides of… _this_ , just because we couldn't sit down and talk like fucking adults. Just because we let our egos get in the way. We, the both of us, we just…. I want us—the team back, but we can't, not with the way things played out, because you're _criminals_ now, and I can't help but think it's all my fault, but… shit, I can't even think properly right now, what am I doing trying to explain two plus years of ridiculousness to an amnesiac? I just, _fuck_ , I can't do this—"

Tony pushed himself up from the chair so violently that he almost lost his balance, but he didn't care. He just needed up and away, away from the eyes of the man who he'd faced up against and lost over these Accords, this _stupid collection of words_ … The man who he'd lo— _lost_ over…

The next thing he knew, he was staring at Barnes from barely a foot away, his gasping breaths causing the glass to fog slightly. He watched, slightly cross-eyed, as the fog expanded outwards, then grew smaller, then larger, and then smaller again, as he breathed out, in, out… in…

There was a light touch on his shoulder, and then he was turned around, slowly, and he found himself looking up into the eyes of Steve from so very close up, and they were blue, blue, _blue_ , and he missed those eyes so _much_ it hurt and damn it why was he so emotional right now…

Steve gently gripped his shoulders, one hand on each, but Tony didn't feel afraid in that moment, in that hold, trapped in that gaze. He felt safe, secure, cared for, and even, perhaps… _wanted_.

He let himself believe it for the moment. It would have to last him a lifetime.

"Tony," Steve began softly, almost delicately. Steve rubbed his thumbs soothingly against Tony's shoulders through the fabric of his shirt, and Tony couldn't help but to shiver, just a little. "If it means anything, I forgive you, and I know that's not the same thing as... non-amnesiac me forgiving you, but I think... I'd like to think that I, he… _I_ would forgive you, too. But most importantly... I know me. I don't know a whole heck of a lot about what you were just talking about, but I know that it would have ripped me apart, no matter what, because you and I..."

Steve looked away and breathed deeply, trying to control himself, his hands squeezing Tony's shoulders just a little bit harder, though not enough to hurt. And then the grip relaxed the next moment, as Steve released his breath, stepping back just a little, but not letting go, and speaking once again. "I know I'd be so sorry that it happened, no matter what, Tony, whatever it was. But not only that, I know that I'd be trying to figure out how in the hell I could ever get you back, ever get you to forgive me, and it would be ripping me apart every day, every moment of every day, that we were apart. Because, damn it... Tony..."

And in that moment Steve looked so broken, staring down at Tony, and that brokenness scared Tony, because it mirrored the brokenness in his own heart. There were too many emotions, too much to unpack, so much going on and whirling around in his heart and mind, and so Tony latched onto the only thing he possibly could in that moment, because there was _no_ way…

"You don't even know what happened, Cap" he said, breaking the other man's gaze and stepping away and forcing the hands from off of his shoulders. He turned his head just enough so that he didn't have to chance catching Steve's eyes again, but kept his body facing him as he jumped right in, anger rising up in him like a wave—he wasn't even sure why he was so angry… just that he had to show Steve why he didn't deserve the man's forgiveness; that he never would.

"The Sokovia Accords were practically a leash and collar—a spiked or choke one for many—for the superhero community. For enhanced individuals." May as well start with the worst. "We had to provide biometrics. DNA, fingerprints… enhanced individuals like you, like Thor, like any of the superhumans and mutants who just wanted to protect their neighborhoods and stay under the radar other than that… you, they, would have had to go through power analyses, threat and health risk assessments… the whole shebang. It even covered regular humans like myself, Wilson, Romanoff, Barton… as long as we signed the Accords, we had to abide. Anyone who didn't sign, wasn't allowed to participate in national or international missions such as, say, another Chitauri invasion. Could you imagine sitting on the sidelines for that? No, that's right, you can't, and you didn't then, either. How about if it happened in France? Quick hop in the quinjet, right? Or like when we had to go grab Loki in Stuttgart, and he was going to do god-knows-what to that crowd, and maybe more? Or when Thor had to battle those Dark Elves in London? Wasn't much he could do about that, but the way the Accords were being written, _are_ written, we'd need permission to cross their borders. We can't just do it on a whim. And on _top of that_ , we need clearance from a country or from the U.N. before we can kick, say, those Dark Elves' asses to kingdom come, and save London from being destroyed.

"The Accords that I was on board with at the start were not what they ended up being. What I wanted was… not this, but I'll own up for what I supported, for what I had a hand in creating," Tony said tiredly, and his mind flashed to Ultron, to the damage and destruction, and untold thousands of lives that event had affected—perhaps millions, if he followed the web all the way out. Every time he took a step forward, he took a step, maybe two, back, it felt like. "I was too focused on accountability, for owning up to my mistakes, that I missed…" Tony clenched his fists, and then turned more fully towards Steve, and looked him in the eye again. "But it wasn't all on me."

Steve replied, nearly immediately, and more steadily than Tony expected, "No, I imagine it wasn't."

Tony eyed him a little warily, having expected anger at the enumeration of the Accords, but then plowed on anyway. "Part of it had to do with the Accords… but the other part was Barnes there." Steve drew in a sharp breath, and glanced at the cryo chamber, his mind likely spinning with all the different possibilities that statement meant, before returning back, just as quickly, to Tony. He knew, he trusted, that Tony would give him the answers he needed.

And that hurt just as much as a punch to the gut, seeing that trust again each time it popped up.

"A bomb was placed at the United Nations when they were voting on the Accords, and it was made to look like Barnes did it. At first, we all thought he did, but you didn't—of course you didn't. But the guy who framed him did such a good job that the whole world was on the lookout, and it flushed him, the real Barnes, out of hiding. We were given time—a short window—to bring him in, or it would be shoot on sight—"

"What—" Steve suddenly looked furious, and Tony flinched, but stood his ground.

"Let me finish," Tony snapped, eyebrows drawing together.

Steve looked mutinous, but settled back on his heels, pressed his lips together, and crossed his arms.

"Obviously that didn't happen, but fuck if it wasn't close, Steve," Tony continued. "In the end, though, what happened was… well, basically you and the rest of the team turned rebels and mutinied against the law because they wanted to arrest Barnes for his crimes, first against the United Nations—which, yes, he didn't commit, but that needed to be proven in a court of law because we're not fucking _above the law_ —and also for his crimes as the Winter Soldier. Which, yes, again, brainwashing and all that shit. But it still wasn't up to us. We had to follow the law. We need to be examples of the law, not above it. Not exceptions.

"But damn it, that's getting off topic and is just going to piss the both of us off. But for what it's worth, I think Barnes is completely innocent of all that awful bullshit that was done to him. He doesn't deserve a damn bit of the blame because he was a _tool_ , a _weapon_ , crafted and held by Hydra, okay? Okay, Steve?" He stepped forward, just enough to put him in Steve's personal space, and looked up into Steve's eyes, catching and holding his gaze until he got a curt nod, followed moments later by a loosening of Steve's posture.

"Yeah, okay, thank you Tony," Steve mumbled, and then he cleared his throat. "So I… we went on the run to protect Bucky?" he asked, turning to the side so he could look at his best friend.

"You did," Tony replied.

"You didn't join us?" Steve asked, still facing away. Tony couldn't see his facial expressions, and his voice was flat, so he wasn't sure what he was dealing with…

"No, I… you didn't want me with you. We'd burned bridges at that point, we were on opposite sides of a war, practically, and we… fought. We literally… fuck, looking back on it now, I have no idea how we let it get so far, how _I_ let it get so far, but we literally _fought_ , Steve. We gathered up our allies, and we fought at a fucking _airport_ for Chrissakes. Fully decked out, weapons and all. Us, Barnes, Widow, Hawkeye, Rhodey, Wilson, and others, and we fucking _trashed_ the place and—and… _Rhodey_ —"

Tony choked on a sob, but recovered himself before Steve, who had turned around, concern—and mounting horror—on his face, could touch him, and backed away a step. "Rhodey… he may never walk unassisted again, and that's because of _me_ , because of _us_ , Steve. We fucked up, bad, and we can't ever give that back to him, we never can. _We_ might be able to forgive and forget—" Tony let out a slightly hysterical bark of laughter, "—but he can't ever get that back. _He_ can't forget.

"But hell, it doesn't even end there. _Then_ we had a showdown in some fucking bunker in Siberia—" he flicked his eyes at Steve and then quickly away "—oh and you broke your team out of a black site prison in the middle of the ocean where they were being detained, fully cementing your title as rogues. Or traitors, in the eyes of America—and the world. And then you came here, and I've been doing damage control stateside, trying to ram amendments down the throat of the U.N. but I think it'll take another alien invasion before they realize they need heroes more than they need collars. More than they need tracking devices and laws and jail cells."

Tony took a deep breath, finally coming to a stopping point where he didn't really know what else to say. Or, at least, a place where he could go any which way. All of the important parts had been covered, and now it was just… figuring out where to go from there, taking his cues from Steve.

Steve, who was starting to tremble, just the slightest, in a way that Tony had never seen before.

"I don't understand…" Steve whispered. "Why would I do that? What happened between us that I would do that? It could never have been just the Accords, and Bucky means a lot to me, he's my best friend and… _shit_ , Tony, even if it had all just been for Bucky, you mean so much to me, and for me to have been able to do that… I just… I just don't _understand_."

Tony tried his hardest to ignore what that knowledge did to his stomach, his heart. He'd never known. He'd guessed, but he'd never known. Steve had meant so much to him, meant so much to him even _still_ , but to hear that Tony meant that much to Steve…? No—no, he had to remind himself that this wasn't _his_ Steve. Rather, not the present-day Steve. This was a bygone Steve. One that would be gone again as soon as his memories returned.

He couldn't afford to forget that.

"Meant," Tony corrected gently. "I… _meant_ something to you, Steve, but not anymore. Not to… _this_ Steve." Tony fluttered his hands in Steve's direction, indicating the situation at hand. "And you have to remember that. You're not him. You made your choice, in banding together against me, against the Accords, but also to protect Barnes, and I get that. And it was your choice to make. But it cut our ties. Burned our bridges. And that's just the way it's going to be from now on. I'll try to fix the Accords and get everything… okay again, but us, this… yeah." Tony grimaced at the delivery.

Steve looked like he was about to protest, but Tony bulldozed right over him, stubborn as can be, "You felt that I was responsible for the Accords," Tony stated firmly, as if that would put an end to the argument. For him… well, for him it didn't, but he had always thought it would for Steve.

But Steve proved him wrong.

At least _this_ —whatever, fucking amnesia—Steve did.

"But why would I, your Steve, present-day Steve—" It looked like Tony wasn't the only one having problems with the terminology, "—and the team, believe that you were responsible for the Accords? It's not like you _wrote_ them." Steve frowned, and took a step back and away, running his hands through his hair once, twice, as he gathered his thoughts. Then he looked back at Tony, eyes sharp and intelligent, and continued, "Just because you were trying to find some compromise with them, just because you were trying to come up with a way to get us to be held accountable for our actions—which, hell, I agree with one hundred percent—" Tony felt, and probably looked, like he'd been hit in the face by the shield, because _holy shit_ , what did he just say? "—because not even we can afford to become bullies, even if that's not quite what the Accords were about yet, they sound like they were there to prevent it from ever happening before it ever occurred. And hell, Tony, I didn't go around punching assholes around in back alleys just so that I could become one and have the world be too afraid to tell me I was one. And congratulations, it looks like you stood up to one of the world's strongest men, who'd become one of the world's biggest bullies, and told him one of the hardest things that needed saying—and I know how that feels." Steve's lips twisted wryly, but his eyes were sad, so very sad, and Tony... he didn't know what to think, what to say, what to do, because… what do you say to something like that?

There really wasn't much at all you _could_ say to that.

Steve smiled wanly at him. "The great Tony Stark, speechless? Now that's something." He didn't stop to wait for Tony to say anything in reply, and just moved along, mercifully, because Tony was still having trouble figuring out what words were. "I'm really sorry that all this happened Tony. And I can't say sorry because it's not my place to. I wasn't… quite the one who did it, even though I was, and isn't this a crap situation? I just… all I can do right now, I suppose, is thank you for telling me all of this. For coming to me when you didn't have to, with all of… this. With all of this between us. I'm sorry that I put you through that, but thank you, in any case, and for telling me the truth. And I know it is. You wouldn't lie to me, and I see the truth in your eyes. You always…" He lifted his hand, as if to touch the crow's feet at the edge of Tony's eye, but pulled back just before he could make contact, and Tony wasn't sure if he was glad for it, or relieved.

"Thank you for what you're doing for Bucky, too, Tony, even if you won't admit to it all out loud. Thank you," Steve continued, looking at Tony for one beat, then two, and then turning around, walking a few steps away and looking at Barnes in his cryo chamber. "I… I'd like to be alone with him before bed, please, and then maybe we can talk some more tomorrow, if that's alright? Or do you have to leave tonight?"

"Tomorrow works," Tony replied, and then had to clear his throat. "I don't leave until the day after tomorrow. I'll come by after breakfast, collect you for a walk if you like," he offered, backing up towards the door of the lab.

"Sure," Steve accepted softly. "Thank you, again."

"Yeah," Tony said. He wasn't quite sure how to close out a conversation of this magnitude. There was… so much. So much that had been said, so much more that needed to be said, and so many emotions that had been split open wide and laid bare.

"I forgive him, you know. You. However you want to term it. I… There is so little you could do that I couldn't forgive, because of what you… because. I forgive you. Forgave you on the cold floor of that bunker in Siberia, Steve…

"I miss you."

There. That was how to close a conversation like that, Tony thought, his breaths shaking as he practically flew down the corridors to his room. That was how you did it.

* * *

 _ **The next morning**_

"Why didn't you tell me it was that bad? That that happened? That we _did that_ to each other?"

The door to Tony's room had flown open, and only the panicked look on Steve's face stopped him from calling for the suit—but it was a near thing. Tony imagined that if he'd been sleeping he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, but as it were… he hadn't even been to bed yet.

He would blame the jet lag, but, well, everyone and their mother knew that would be a lie.

"Did what?" Tony asked calmly as he stood up slowly from the couch. His joints protested slightly, but at least he hadn't been sitting for so long that they could've gotten too stiff. "Good morning, by the way. Coffee?" he asked as he walked towards the machine in the far corner of the room, deliberately turning his back on Steve.

"You never told me that I almost _killed you_ , Tony," Steve said plaintively, his distress nearly palpable.

Tony froze.

"Yeah, that's right," Steve said gruffly, voice coming from closer by. "I woke up from a dream that turned out not to be a dream at all, and just lay there as memory after memory came flooding back in, as my mind opened its floodgates and let everything back in, and I made myself jump from every possible topic, and some I might not even conceivably think of, just so that I could make sure I had them all, and I made myself wait before coming to find anyone, but then—" His voice broke. "Then I came across what happened in _Siberia_ and I couldn't hold back any longer and I had to come find you. Why _didn't you tell me_? Why did you leave this out when we were talking yesterday?"

Tony didn't turn around. He didn't want to face the reality that the Steve from yesterday was gone forever, that the Steve from… that Cap was back and here to stay. "What does it matter?"

"It matters to me," Cap replied, and he was just steps away. But Tony didn't hear anymore footsteps, so it sounded like he was minding his distance. For now. "You were hurt. Hurt badly by me. By Bucky."

"So were you. So was he," Tony said evenly as he walked the last few steps to the coffee maker. But he didn't do anything once there except rest his hands on the granite countertop.

"I—" Steve practically growled, and Tony was faintly surprised at himself for not flinching. Perhaps… perhaps yesterday was exactly what he'd needed. Perhaps it had been good for him after all.

"Cap," Tony said with just a bit of heat, finally turning around and slanting the taller man a _look_ that told him to drop it in no uncertain terms. "I survived. You survived. We all have the scars to prove for it, but we're managing, aren't we?"

"You always—" The other man stopped himself. "Fine. Okay. I just… I'm sorry. I… none of that should have happened. And… and I should've told you. A long time ago. About… about your parents."

Instead of getting angry like he would've a couple days ago, Tony found himself softening, just a little, at the mention. "Thank you, Cap," he replied. "I told you yesterday it was okay, that I forgive you. But thank you."

Silence fell over them then, and it was only… it wasn't quite as uncomfortable as it could've been. But it was still… it still wasn't _yesterday_.

Finally, Steve broke the quiet. "I just… I, look. Can I… There's so much that needs said, Tony, and there's so much that I can't fit into even a day's worth of conversation with you, if you even wanted to have it with me again. But I remember everything you said to me yesterday, and that I said back, and… just… not only that, but based on everything I've felt and known and just absolutely _agonized_ over for the past six months since I threw everything down the drain in one idiotic, bone-headed, stubborn decision after another, I just need to say this, if you'll let me, please."

Tony couldn't do much else besides nod, honestly. In for a penny, in for a pound…

Steve shot him a relieved look but it was quickly replaced by the same one from earlier, the one that seemed filled with self-castigation, and Steve started to pace in short, abrupt circles, running a hand through his hair every so often and throwing the strands every which way. "I went about everything the wrong way and I was an asshole and I shouldn't expect you to forgive me but we... we were friends and I liked that and I'd like it if we could be again and this... what we've had these last few months has sucked for me but most of all it's sucked for the team and for the ones with families. And for their families themselves.

"And I was the one who asked them to abandon their families all for some misbegotten sense of loyalty and of duty for the sake of the world that was really all about my pride, and not about protecting superhero interests or even about my friend, about Bucky, if I'm honest. At least not in the end. I was too bullheaded to listen. I didn't want to in the end. I should have. And I'm so ashamed of that, Tony, and I haven't been able to tell anyone that. Nobody until you.

"And now... these families have suffered. Because of me. They should have a chance at getting their families back. And if I have to rot here so that their partners can go home, so be it. If I can never be forgiven in the eyes of the law, whichever law that is, but they can, so be it. It's worth it.

"But I... I remember now. And if you don't want anything to do with me fixing my mistakes, these _absolute fuck-ups,_ fine… but I… After the first few months of anger, I finally did some real soul-searching. I finally got my head out of my ass and _breathed_. And you know what I did? And I'm ashamed to admit I didn't truly do this before… What I did was I finally read the Accords. Fully. Properly, and with an open mind. I read some before, but… not enough, not all, and not without anger clouding my eyes. If I had only done it sooner, done it _then_ , when it _mattered_ , and then not let everything with Bucky get me distracted from… well, that's in the past. I can't change it, I can only apologize, and I am more sorry than words can say that I never sat down with you to discuss them like a good leader should have.

"Because I hurt more than myself, more than you, more than… more than _us_ by not doing that when I should have. It sounds arrogant, but by me not doing that, maybe I've made a mistake that's profoundly affected the world, and I can only pray that we can recover from it. But… it starts with us. With you, and I know you're already doing so much. And it starts with me, too." He paused, and worried at his bottom lip for a moment before continuing, tentatively, "I… I have, in my rooms, a completely annotated version of the Accords with my thoughts, if you're interested. If you think..." He trailed off, as if he wasn't quite sure how to ask what Tony thought he was asking.

"Yes," Tony said, a little breathlessly.

"Yes?" Steve asked faintly, after nothing was more forthcoming after a good few seconds.

"I..." Tony choked out, then cleared his throat gracelessly. "I, yes. Yes, to everything. But I fucked up too, you know," Tony added quietly after a moment. "You know I—"

"I remember, Tony," Steve interrupted, but quietly, calmly. "I remember, but I also remember everything you said yesterday. I listened, and I heard. I understand, and I want to work through this with you. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're… you're not?" Tony asked, unable to truly comprehend the scope of those few words.

And then that moment of doubt, within a bare instant: Why would Steve want to stay? He wasn't good enough. Tony Stark wasn't good enough for things to just fall into his lap like this—he'd always had to fight tooth and nail for them. It had to be too good to be true. "You're not just saying this to get back to the States, are you? Just to get your name, your reputation… " He watched, in rapt, sick attention, as Steve's face went white with shock, "... your best friend cleared, are you? _Are you_?"

But at that point he knew the truth. There was no way that was the face of a man trying to pull a fast one. That was the face of a man who had nothing left to lose. Who was laying it all on the line. Who had placed it all at Tony's feet and was waiting for judgment from on high.

And Tony had no idea why.

Here was a man who could have stood up, walked out, and forgotten all about Tony. Could have gone back to a life that didn't include him, who had friends, and would soon—thanks to Tony, even, but Steve could forget that easily—have his old best friend back, even if a little worse for wear. He had his corrections to the Accords and could propose them himself, be the prodigal son returned, without the taint of Tony Stark upon him.

He could have everything he wanted.

But not only that, here was a man who could have stood up and pulled Tony up by his collar, decked him again and again and thrown him around the room, and no one would have lifted a finger, not unless T'Challa had given his guards orders to break up Captain America laying a well-deserved beatdown on Iron Man. Here was a man who could have stood and looked down his nose at Tony, who could have looked at him in that disappointed way he had, or with the even worse look he'd developed in the end, where he had looked _hurt_ and _betrayed_ even though Tony could never figure out why those feelings had appeared on Cap's features—though, now Tony knew, there had been a lot of misunderstandings on both sides to go around.

"No… no, you're not…" Tony murmured finally, answering his own question, shoulders deflating just a little. "You'd stay here, you'd stay here with Bar—Ja… Bucky," he finished firmly. "You'd stay here with the both of you for the rest of your lives, not quite prisoners, but not quite free, if it meant everyone else got clear, got to go home, or even if all they got was the chance at new identities and shitty apartments in, I don't know, Switzerland or something, but as long as they had _freedom_ and could be with their families, and could escape this whole mess. You'd do it, because you care."

He was quiet, then, for several minutes, his hand held up in a request for silence, and it was granted. Finally, "You cared all along, and that was what hurt me the most, because I thought you didn't care about me. You had chosen everyone else, but lashed out against me. You cared about them but not me and so I… I cared so much… I… fucking hell I just _can't_ —"

And then Tony bolted.

* * *

But Steve, stuck in his head as he might have been, was quicker. Even though he'd dropped his gaze, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing, the sudden squeak of shoe soles on floor had him looking up, startled. Steve was quick, but he barely caught Tony as he tried to bolt from the room. He grabbed him, one arm wrapped tight around his middle. Tony lashed out, feebly, once with both his arms and legs, and then became a dead weight as he let Steve carry him back inside. Steve knew that the suit could have been called at any moment, that with a single word—he hoped Tony'd been given a call for help—the guards would have been on them to remove Steve from Tony… and he would have gone, no question.

Steve also knew that if Tony really wanted to escape this conversation, that he could've easily called the suit to him in those moments as well.

Or he would, when his brain started to work again.

Because… that was quite something.

For a man as careful with his words as Tony Stark was, to say he 'cared so much'... perhaps Steve's feelings—the ones that had gone into hibernation with the advent of hostilities, but seemed to have had the possibility of regrowth in this meeting—had not been unreciprocated after all. Perhaps there was hope.

Steve grinned down at Tony as he hauled him up towards him, chest to chest, warm breaths playing together. As he recognized the vulnerability on Tony's features, he smiled more softly, and said, "No, I always cared for you, Tony. You were always first." Before Tony could open his mouth, he looked away and added, "Bucky was… is separate. From the team. He always will be. And so are you. I place you side by side, if you ever need to know, now that… I know that you might think the same of me as I do you," he wove in tentatively, still not quite able to look Tony in the eye, still a little shy. "Before was… a mistake. I didn't show you I cared. I thought that you didn't care for me. That you were burning everything we had to the ground—and I _know_ differently now, I know—so I wanted to make you hurt like I was hurting, and _more_ , so I made it seem like you were _nothing_. That you had _never_ been anything to me, but that was the furthest thing from the truth." He caught Tony's gaze. "You're… you're… I… I lo—"

"—I'm so sorry…"

And only Tony Stark could break apart a love confession a long time in the coming by bursting into tears and apologies. But…

With a soft smile, tears dampening his cheeks, Steve ran his fingers through Tony's hair and whispered, "I forgive you, too."


End file.
